by J E Higgins
His questions were answered when Kella’s face went blank with concern as she raised her hand and pointed. Turning, Rudy felt a cold chill suddenly crawl down his spine. The image of Cork Regan was a familiar one in the Dublin criminal world; he was someone everyone feared. Regan never went asking for someone unless they had run afoul of the IRA. Regan walked from the far end of the club and made his way toward Rudy at the bar. Regan’s men fanned out to surround him.
It wasn’t hard for Rudy to deduce that his club had been watched. Someone shadowing the place called Regan the moment he returned. That the IRA’s top enforcer in the city was so interested in speaking to him gave him definite cause for concern.
“Rudy Sheehan,” Cork greeted in a manner sounding like an old friend but came across in a more sinister manner.
“Tend to the boxes in the back,” Rudy commanded Kella. “And, take your time about it.”
Kella looked concerned as she nodded and slipped quickly into the back room. The IRA men did not chase after her. Hopefully, they had no interest in her or saw her as a potential witness to anything they intended.
Cork took up a seat at the bar. “Ah, Rudy, he began. “I was just driving about with the lads when we thought we’d stop by.”
“I understand you were looking for me earlier.”
“I was, to be certain,” the enforcer cracked a sinister looking smile. “You see, a few days back, a detective with the Garda was killed ─ assassinated is a better word. Marston Donovan worked for the intelligence boys, you know ─ the Crime Special Surveillance Unit.”
“I heard about it. Nasty business.” Rudy kept his composure, though he could feel a cold pool of sweat forming.
Regan continued, “It is indeed. Especially, since the killer hasn’t been caught. Hell, a suspect hasn’t even been identified. This makes certain types whom I answer to kinda angry. Such a decorated lad working for the service of his people gets offed by some piece of shit, and no one knows who he is.”
“I can imagine. Bad stuff all around.” Rudy kept his words minimal as he listened intently. The message was being received loud and clear. Donovan had been the IRA’s guy, and now someone had to answer to them for it.
“True,” Regan continued. “So, as a favor to some friends, I said I’d look into it. You know, ask around, and see if anyone knows anything.”
“Then, that’s why you’re here?” Rudy asked innocently. “Asking around.”
Regan nodded his head as he raised his eyes slightly. “Something like that. See, from what I’ve learned about the killing, I’m inclined to think it wasn’t some punk off the street. No, I assume a professional was called in since a detective with criminal intelligence wouldn’t be a job for local talent. And, that professional would need someone for support. Someone who could set up a safe house to work from and obtain needed materials and supplies.”
Rudy shrugged. “And, you’re wondering if I know anything about it?”
Regan remained silent, as he nodded his head.
“I don’t know a thing,” Rudy stated as he leaned casually up against the cabinets displaying alcohol and feigned a look of ignorance. At this point, he felt his nerves jumping. He couldn’t tell if this was all a fishing expedition or a grace period to save his own ass. In either case, admitting that he had assisted in killing someone important to the IRA could only end with him dead.
The other consideration running through his mind was, who should he be concerned about from the other side? He had not forgotten that powerful forces had dispatched his young charge to Dublin and forced him to assist in her operation. Even if turning her over granted amnesty from the IRA, it could very well place him in just as dangerous of a position from her employers.
Reviewing his options carefully, Rudy determined his best play was to protect his charge. He had made all the arrangements for Sauwa to depart the following night. She would be gone and so would the liability. Any other option, as he saw it, only ended with him as a corpse.
“You sure you haven’t heard anything or been approached by anyone looking to acquire your services and what not?” Regan studied the club owner carefully. Rudy maintained a casually innocent pose and seemed to be completely unfazed.
Shrugging his shoulders, the enforcer rose from his chair. “Well then, sorry to bother you with all this. Thanks for the time.” He started off, his entourage following in tow.
Rudy kept his pose until he was sure they were gone. Only when he saw the doors to the club open and close did he finally take a deep breath. He had figured the mysterious young woman he knew only as Bridget, or by her nickname, Swan, had been involved in the detective’s killing. He had not wanted any of this. He was determined to find a way to survive.
Not sure what to think, he ran through every possible angle. Rudy tried to figure out the situation in order to plan his next move. The IRA might be pursuing wild theories to flush out a lead to the assassin, or they were onto him? Had some word gotten out that had brought the IRA to him? Cork Regan had a reputation throughout the Dublin criminal scene as a violent enforcer. Rudy decided that if the IRA knew anything for sure, the visit he had just suffered would have had grossly different results. His suspicions were confirmed. He was protecting a hired killer ─ a ruthless, professional killer at that. It could prove equally deadly to consider any plan of betrayal.
Deciding the IRA was still unsure of anything and grasping at straws, he felt the safer route was sticking to his current plan ─ protecting Sauwa and getting her out of the country. He would be rid of her in a day’s time along with any connection to the whole sordid affair; something he definitely wanted.
After waiting a few hours to avoid attracting attention, or any IRA heavies lurking about, Rudy jumped in his car. He headed immediately to the warehouse where Sauwa was staying. With the IRA looming, he felt it wise to alert his charge to take additional precautions. He pulled out of the club parking lot and headed down the street. He was oblivious to the figure on a motorcycle following him. Rudy drove carefully as he navigated the streets of the city. It was mid-afternoon when he pulled up outside the warehouse. He walked up to the doorway and waited. That it was a surprise visit to the safe house was not lost on him. He wanted to make sure Swan was aware of his arrival before entering.
“Hello, Swan!” he bellowed. “It’s Banker. I’m coming in.” With that, he gingerly stepped inside. The darkness was mild, but still dark enough to mask any traps or setups that might be around. He made it to her room to find it empty. It still looked lived in, but all the clues suggested she had only just departed. Banker remained standing in the doorway unsure of his next move. He entered the room and heard a click that sounded like the hammer on a gun. Raising his hands, he began to shiver slightly as he waited.
“Why are you here? This is not part of our protocol.” The cold stern tone of Sauwa’s voice was too familiar to him by now.
“It’s important, or I would not be here.” Banker defended himself listening to the slight sound of muffled feet.
Turning around, Banker was looking at a frizzy-haired woman who had been resting when she heard him come in. He thought how most normal women would kill a man if he saw her in such a state. “I need to warn you about a recent development.”
Sauwa remained silent; her cold stare said everything. “The IRA is giving me trouble about some business issues. While they’re hanging about, I want to limit our dealings. So, here is the information regarding your departure tomorrow night.” He walked over and slipped Sauwa a piece of paper. She opened it to find a pier number, a ship name, a code name to use for her contact on the ship as well as the code name she was to use. It also had written the passwords that were to be used upon meeting. “When will you have your documents?” Banker asked nervously.
“I went this morning to where you told me to go. A woman took my photo, and said she was putting a priority on my documents.” Sauwa sighed, as she brushed her long hair over her shoulders. “My understanding is that I should
have them by tomorrow evening around six.”
“Good.” Banker was pacing nervously. He was walking a thin line. He didn’t want to tell a professional killer that the IRA was looking for her. Such an explanation would invariably mark him as a liability. Still, he needed to take more precautions with her and couldn’t operate as if it were business as usual. If he could get her to handle the remaining things without his assistance, then he needn’t deal with her anymore after this meeting. “Then you’re all set. After you get your documents call me to let me know if there are any problems. If I don’t hear from you by six thirty, I’ll assume everything went well.”
Sauwa nodded. She could tell the man was more on edge than usual, and his dealings with the IRA affected him more than he was letting on. However, she didn’t ask anything; he would probably lie to her if she did. She studied him for a minute trying to ascertain whether this was a lead up to betrayal or the actions of a nervous man who couldn’t wait to be rid of her. Eventually, she determined it was the latter. She also agreed with his advice that it would be safer to carry on without him. The less he knew of her activities and movements the better. What she got from Banker’s disclosure was the IRA was looking for her. What they knew of his involvement was still uncertain. Still, he hadn’t seemed to betray her by his mannerisms, and he had quickly come to warn her.
She reminded herself that men like Banker survived by assessing the odds and going in the direction that gave him the best chance of survival. In this case, her benefactor’s attempts to veil the true story while providing a warning indicated he wasn’t sure if it was the IRA or her that presented the most danger.
Thanking Banker for bringing the issue to her attention, she carefully pulled out the Browning automatic she kept under the bed. He watched, as she carefully fingered the piece, explaining details of the weapon, its make and abilities. All of it was done as an indirect reminder to the club owner that she was a rather dangerous person in her own right ─ there could be deadly repercussions if he had thoughts of giving her up.
Banker was awash with sweat as he exited the young woman’s room and then the warehouse. He had gotten the message of both parties loud and clear. Leaping into his car he pulled out from the parking lot and onto the street heading back to the club. As he left, he was oblivious to the motorcycle rider parked somewhat hidden just across the way.
Regan’s plan had worked like a charm. He had suspected from the beginning the owner of the Rory Club had been the man involved in Donovan’s death. The idea of beating a confession out of someone often proved a waste of time and prone to faulty information. Instead, just watching where Mr. Rudy Sheehan went all the time seemed more practical. It had been his experience that throwing a scare into a man tended to make him desperate and take poorly thought out actions. In this case, he went straight to the location where he was hiding the assassin.
He was enjoying a round of pool at his favorite pub when the barkeep reported a phone call for him. It was the motorcyclist; he gave him the address of the warehouse. Regan jotted the information down and ended the conversation with a few words of gratitude before rounding up his men from various places in the establishment. With the team assembled, Regan called over to the barkeep ─ a thin, frail man of elderly years ─ who proceeded to lead the enforcers into the back room. Through the storage area and down a hall, the barkeep pushed passed a collection of old boxes before pressing a lever hidden inconspicuously behind some old pipes. Everyone watched as the wall in front of them cracked open. The barkeep pushed the wall all the way back to reveal a hidden room.
Moving inside, the men found themselves standing in an office. It was used at times as their headquarters to plan missions and conduct business. With the help of Regan, the barkeep removed bricks from the floor and dragged a large canvas bag out from a hole. Bringing the bag to the center of the office, Regan unzipped it and removed some plastic protective sheeting. He then began pulling out an assortment of weapons ─ mostly handguns ─ and laying them on the ground along with several boxes of ammunition. As a rule, Regan, like most operatives, carried guns only when they were on a mission. Otherwise, getting caught ensured both prison time and the loss of already scarce weapons.
Each man chose his preferred weapon and the correct box of ammo. They carefully loaded the magazines and cylinder chambers before stashing them in their belts under their coats and sweatshirts. When they were finished, the barkeep handed Regan a set of keys.
“This car’s clean?” Regan asked as he pocketed the keys.
“Untraceable,” the barkeep replied with an expressionless face. “The car has papers, license plates, no warrants or tickets.”
“Good,” Regan nodded. “Then we’re all set. We’ll call you when it’s finished. Once it’s done, call the boss and let him know.”
The barkeep nodded silently as the enforcers exited the room.
Sauwa was engrossed in her book when she heard the sound of a glass bottle being kicked across the concrete floor of the warehouse. It was part of her informal security system. At night, she had scattered cans and bottles on the floor in the main area. People prowling about tended to overlook such innocuous things as simple debris and did not get concerned. Quickly, throwing off her shoes, she padded over to the bed where she retrieved her gun and two additional magazines of ammo. In her stocking feet, she padded quietly out of the room and down the hall in the direction of the shower area.
A little way down the hall she stopped. When she was sure she was immersed in darkness, she slid against the wall and knelt down. Earlier, she had taken the additional precaution of killing the power to the hallway lights. Figuring that in a fight she would likely be the defender, she wanted to deny her aggressors any advantage. The only light offered in the hall showed from her room. She had shut the door on her way out, leaving the hallway nearly pitch black except for the illuminated sliver outlining her door.
With weapon in hand and hammer cocked ready to fire, she waited silently. Even in the distance, she could clearly make out the sounds of several people walking about in the building. That noise became clearer as she heard them entering at the far end of the hall and heading in her direction. At the late hour and the number of people, she could assume whoever she was dealing with had violent intentions.
The footsteps became louder as the group started up the hall. They moved with confidence. That told her they were men accustomed to violence. No timidity or hesitation as they strode up the hall. However, by their movements, it was easy to tell they were not professional soldiers, police or trained guerrillas. They all wore footwear that echoed with each step on the concrete ─ workers or tactical boots, maybe even cowboy boots. Professional operators would have chosen sneakers, or some other form of soft footwear, just as she herself had gone to her socks to mask her movements.
Instead of spreading out and moving along the wall to prevent someone shooting at all of them, these invaders were moving in a tight group right down the center of the hall. Sauwa guessed she was dealing with gangsters or heavies sent for some purpose yet unknown.
Readying her weapon, Sauwa began taking deep breaths as she felt her adrenaline rise. Each footstep brought the impending battle closer. She wasn’t scared, but she had been in enough gun battles to know what could happen to someone when their nervous system took over.
In the scant light, she began to make out the outlines of a few of the men. She waited until they opened the door. They had been in the darkness so long that the sudden burst of light would temporarily blind them and destroy their night vision. She would need every edge if she were going to survive. She lowered her eyes and raised her weapon slightly and prepared.
With a powerful kick, the door to her room flew open. In that moment Sauwa raised her eyes to clearly see the figures of five men standing close together just outside of her room. She lifted her Browning automatic until she was seeing through the rear sights lined up with the front sights pointed directly at the men ahead of her. Press
ing the trigger, the hallway was soon exploding with thunderous echoes as she unleashed rapid fire on the stunned gathering.
Even over the cannon-like booms of .45 caliber bullets, she could hear the screams of the men as the lead tore viciously into their bodies. As they fell away from the door, she could see splashes of blood flying through the air letting her know she was hitting her targets. With the trained instincts of a seasoned combat soldier, she carefully rotated her weapon a few centimeters from side to side trying to hit as many as she could in the short time available.
Bodies briefly entered and exited from the wall of light as the assailants hysterically moved about not knowing what to do. While they had administered plenty of violence in their time, they were virtual strangers to being in an actual gun battle and being on the receiving end. Men fell to the ground screaming in horrific agony, as others tripped over each other and themselves trying to get away.
The whole episode lasted less than a few seconds. But, it felt as though it had been hours when the shooting stopped, and the Browning’s upper receiver was in locked back ejected position signaling she had exhausted her magazine. With her weapon silenced, she could now hear the howls of injured men lying on the ground.
Ejecting the spent magazine, she quickly inserted a fresh one. She held her ground as she heard the voice of a man, she presumed to be the leader, attempting to call out orders. “Get to cover! We’re under a fucking attack! Get to fucking cover!”
She could make out three bodies flopping about on the floor as she heard the sounds of two more stumbling in the darkness trying to get away. Rising to her feet, Sauwa slid against the wall as she moved up on her assailants. The one she assumed to be the leader crawled into her room. Coming to the first two, still in the hallway, she fired two quick rounds into the upper torso and head of each of the injured men. Staying just outside of the doorway, she peeked into the room to see a large, bull of a man trying to turn over enough to reach the waist of his pants. Blood oozed from his arm and leg into thick pools on the floor and his one good arm was working to stabilize himself while trying to reach for what she presumed was his gun. He was entirely oblivious to her peeking through the doorway looking at him.